


Cicatrix

by mansklig



Category: The Walking Dead
Genre: Child Abuse, Daryl & Jesus - Freeform, Desus - Freeform, Hurt Daryl Dixon, M/M, darus - Freeform, hurt Jesus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 12:46:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15413220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansklig/pseuds/mansklig
Summary: Jesus notices Daryl's scars for the first time.





	Cicatrix

**Author's Note:**

> Listened to "Body and Soul" by Kat Dahlia as I wrote this, feels like it suits the one shot i guess.

"Jus' let it go Rovia." Daryl muttered, pushing himself off of the bed and searching for his shirt, that was left somewhere on the floor of the trailer. Jesus knew he was pissed, or at least uncomfortable, because Daryl was using his last name instead of the usual 'Paul' he's gotten used to.

"Let it go? Daryl who did this? You know i don't care but fuck- who did this to you?" Paul asked, his palm moving to the older man's back. Daryl flinched away from the touch he was just craving seconds ago, and repeated, snapping this time,

"I said let it go!" He found the shirt laying on the floor, picked it up and started buttoning it, trying to concentrate on steadying his shaky fingers. He doesn't want to talk about this. He's not ready to have this conversation. Not now.

He knew whatever he had with Paul was going to escalate one day, and the gentle touches would eventually develop to something more than that. But with all the feelings that were erupting in him with Paul's sweet kisses, he absolutely forgot about the scars littering his back.

It shouldn't have mattered. He should have just shut him up with his lips and kept going, kept kissing him quiet until he forgot about the uneven gashes of skin under his long fingers, but he couldn't. The way Paul's body tensed underneath him was so detectable, so recognizable that Daryl could only imagine the look of revulsion on the younger man's features. So when Paul pulled away, opening his mouth and barging him with worried questions and anxious glances, Daryl's only thought was the time it would take him to find his shirt and leave this place that suddenly left him feeling crammed.

"Daryl stop- look at me. _Daryl_ -" Paul was off the bed now, moving towards the hunter determinedly.

"I'm not disgusted, so if this is what's going inside your head forget it. Can you please look at me?" Daryl continued ignoring him, putting on his boots hurriedly, not bothering to tie the shoelaces. He moved to the door, with Paul walking by his side.

"You're not leaving. Stop this bullshit and talk to me, we don't have to fight over something so stupid." Paul said, standing in front of the door, Daryl's only exit.

"Move it, Rovia." Daryl said, ignoring the tug his heart feels over the word 'stupid'.

"No. Talk to me. Who did this?"

"It don' fuckin' matter!" Daryl barks, voice too loud. He just wants to leave, he doesn't want to talk about this, he hates talking about his weaknesses. And the fact that its Paul in front of him makes this situation so much worse. Attractive, glorious, _perfect_ Paul. Strong, determined, passionate Paul. Pretty big eyes and dark blonde haired, smooth sun-kissed skin and plump pink lips, annoying laugh and beautiful soul _Paul_.

He doesn't want him to know about how fucked up he is, he doesn't want him to know his dad beat the shit out of him because he could, he doesn't want him to know he still has nightmares about him, he doesn't want him to know that if his father's figure comes into this trailer accompanied by the usual clinking of the metal of his belt, he might not fight back, just because the ill bit of him believes he might have deserved it.

"Was it your dad?" Paul asks, barely whispering.

"Yeah, ya happy? It don' fuckin' matter, he's dead, has been for a long ass time. Now move." Daryl answered, thoughtlessly.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why the fuck would i tell ya 'bout somethin' like that? S'been a long time Paul, let it go."

"Then why are you leaving? If it's been a long time? You should be accepting of it now-" He was cut off by Daryl shoving him into the door, faces close to each other, noses almost touching.

"Quit the bullshit. Ya don't tell me what i should or shouldn't be acceptin' of-"

"I don't mind the scars, I just want to make sure you're okay. You don't have to act like this around me." Paul says, voice gentle, comforting. 

"Oh really, s'that what you wanna do now? Ya gon' be teachin' me how to act too?" Paul felt heartbroken at the man's tone, it held so much pain and soreness and Paul can feel it was taking him everything to keep a steady voice.

Paul's hands moved from the side of the door, slowly wrapping themselves around Daryl's shaky shoulders. He was so tense, but he didn't pull away. Paul could feel the hot breathes fanning his neck.

"It's okay. _You're okay._ "

Paul knew he has to be tender, he knew he's treading on thin ice, but he didn't care, Daryl won't hurt him, never. He knows that.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you had to go through that." Paul whispered, hands clenching around the taller man harder.

"Told ya it don't matter." Daryl muttered, his voice hoarse.

"It does matter Daryl, it matters so much and you know that."

"He didn't mean t'hurt me- he did it because I won't listen sometimes, goin' 'round 'nd doin' stupid shit, just wanted to raise me right."

Paul gave an anguished whimper, pulling Daryl closer to stop him from pulling away,

"No, no _baby_. That's not how you raise someone right, he hurt you and you- you don't make him excuses."

Daryl is silent for a while, head buried in his lover's neck, breathing the comforting scent. Then he feels like spilling his heart out, he feels like telling Paul about every stupid thing he did that lead to a whopping from his father, he feels like telling him about every slap and every punch that left him gasping for air, he feels like telling him about the evenings his father would later pull him for a hug and tell him he didn't mean to hurt him, that he did it for his own good, about the nights he'd spend cuddled to his chest watching football and laughing because his daddy was in a good mood.

But of all of these things, he feels like telling him about the nights he'd lay in bed, his heart aching, tears stinging his eyes, as the guilt of not knowing what to feel towards the man that brought him to the world  _thundered_  inside of him.

And he does.

They sit on the bed as Daryl speaks, Paul's comforting arms wrapped around his own. He tells him everything, slowly, once at a time, listening to Paul's eventual comments about how it wasn't his fault, how he was just a young boy trying to please his father.

"S'just- I can't blame him y'know, his own dad did shit to him too, always saw scars on his back 'nd fuck- he was tryin' be a good dad, even if it weren't enough."

"No Daryl, that's not how someone becomes a good dad, he was a manipulative disgusting piece of shit. That's all he was. You have to know that. Daryl- _look at me_." Paul's fingers move to the hunter's chin, moving it to make him meet his eyes.

"He was abusing you, and that isn't your fault. You were just a kid." Daryl nods, looking unconvinced.

"If Judith- or Grace or Carl or Enid do something wrong, would you raise a finger on them?"

"No." Daryl answers, adding a couple of seconds later, in a lower voice,

"But they ain't mine in the first place."

Paul is surprised by the answer, but he goes on,

"If we had a kid, me and you, would you beat them for the world?" Daryl doesn't answer, part of him because the question surprised him in the first place, so Paul does for him,

"No. You won't. Because you don't agree with the fucked up things he did-" Paul says, and adds again, more persistent this time,

"Because you're not like him."

"Ya don't know that." Daryl whispers.

Paul's eyes sting, he _hates_ seeing him like this. The despair in his voice, the helplessness in his hunched shoulders, the torment in his eyes. He's never seen Daryl this miserable, and it breaks him that the man who caused this to him was his own father. The same man that should have supported him and made a good man out of him. Not like Daryl wasn't a good man, in fact, Paul thinks he's never seen someone as pure-hearted as the man sitting in front of him.

"I do- I do know that. You're not like him Daryl. You're strong and sweet and charming and understanding and generous and selfless and-" Paul's voice breaks, but he keeps going,

" _And you're so so kind_ , you're _so kind_ that all you've ever done was help people disregarding your own problems- So- so don't tell me that i don't know that because i do- and you deserve someone to share your heavy luggage with because everyone has shitty heavy luggage." Paul feels the air leaving his lungs when Daryl's eyes lock with his.

"Plus, we don't want you hurting your nice arms carrying all that stuff on your own." Paul mutters jokingly, not knowing what else to add. His heart flutters when Daryl chuckles, and then it swells when he leans in to kiss him, and then Daryl mutters something about being a lucky man and Paul no longer knows if his heart is still in his chest.

They kiss, and they _keep kissing_ , arms and legs tangling in a comfortable mess as Paul whispers the most affectionate words he manages to find with Daryl's tongue everywhere.

And then his hands roam the scars, locating them all, absentmindedly memorizing their places and sizes and numbers, eventually pecking the healed skin, making Daryl shiver with pleasure.

"You're _so_ perfect. Just this way, the way you are." Paul mumbles against Daryl's ear, his hands wrapped around the broader man's chest, crossing in front of it.

His hand is pulled away, and then he feels Daryl's lips kissing his palm, slowly and passionately, moving upwards with every kiss, before pulling Paul to his lap.

"You know.. I feel like an ass, always bitching about how shitty the group home was." Paul says, chuckling coyly, before adding,

"You probably thought i was some stupid brat. Bitching about having an early curfew and some homophobic teachers." Paul's fingers play with the hairs at the nape of Daryl's neck,

"Wouldn't be 'ere if s'what i thought." Daryl says, spreading kisses across Paul's collarbone.

And then their lips meet again, and for the first time in a long while, Daryl Dixon's world doesn't seem so dull anymore. Not with the cheerful scout smiling in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it xx


End file.
